


Atlas

by fatal_drum



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is convinced he can carry the world on his shoulders. Erik believes he needs to be taken down a peg. Written for the kink meme <a href="http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/806.html?thread=2342#t2342">spanking prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlas

Perhaps it’s the disparity in their upbringing: despite his sins, Erik was once a good Jewish boy who knew to respect his elders. Charles likely never tasted discipline as a child; the world seemed to bend itself to his whim, whether through force of mind or simple wealth and charm.

It was inevitable that Charles’ easy air of privilege would grate on Erik someday.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice when his offhand comment stops Erik in his tracks, not even when an iron bookend begins to crumple behind his head. Anger comes simply and naturally as breathing; he knows what to do with it, unlike the kinder feelings Charles tries to instill in him. Several thoughts war within Erik’s mind as his friend runs his finger along leather spines in search of some lost volume, but the one that wins out surprises even him.

“You – brat.”

“What?” Charles asks distractedly, pulling a book off the shelf. The weight of his self-appointed task is taking its toll, and his voice is tired.

Erik’s eyes narrow, and before he knows it, he’s looming over the boy, forcing him to crane his neck to meet the stare. There isn’t enough space between them for propriety, but his anger leaves no room to care.

“You –” he says, poking his friend in the chest. “Are an arrogant. Brat.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Charles’ face is disgustingly innocent – kind, even. “Is something bothering you, my friend?”

Erik’s hands move to the boy’s shoulders. “You don’t own the world, Charles. Nor me.”

“I didn’t –” Charles stops when Erik shoves him against the shelf – not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him consider his words carefully.

“You didn’t need to.” Erik says, his eyes boring into Charles’. He knows the boy wants to look away, but his pride refuses. “ It’s in every word you speak, every gesture – God, your arrogance could choke a man.”

He presses Charles harder against the shelf, knowing the wooden edges will bite into his back. “You hold yourself responsible for every mutant ever born, don’t you? And for all the evils the world could visit on us.”

Charles looks away finally, a familiar stubborn frown on his brow. “Someone has to.”

Erik’s hand shoots for Charles’ neck, pushing the boy’s chin as far up as it will go. The blue eyes blaze with the beginnings of anger, but there’s also anticipation in his gaze, in the way Charles chews and then wets his bottom lip.

Erik’s breath catches in his throat, and he forgets his frustration for a moment, staring at that swollen pink lip. Only a moment – and then the white-hot purpose, the burning need to see Charles corrected, is back in force.

“It doesn’t need to be a stripling professor.” Erik says harshly. “An arrogant boy who think his money and his degrees make him fit to run the world.”

“I’m not a child.” Charles snaps. “And I didn’t ask - ”

He stops abruptly when a wrought iron table scrapes across the floor, metal legs gouging streaks into the polished wood.

“Not a child? We’ll have to see.”

With a shove, Charles is sprawled across the polished black surface, his hands scrambling for purchase. He grunts when Erik pushes him down hard. The decorative scrollwork on one side of the table curls around Charles’ wrists, smooth as a lover’s touch but unyielding to his struggles.

Erik doubts anyone has seen Charles this way, forced face-down with no chance of escape. It’s a position Erik knows well, though he’s refused to think of it for years. Charles’ shoulders rise and fall with each quick breath, and his legs tremble beneath him.

When Erik reaches for Charles’ belt, the boy lets out a whimper. The buckle parts with a thought, letting the leather slide free. Erik should probably not enjoy that whimper, nor the hiss when his hand brushes Charles’ hip. But then, he’s always enjoyed many things he shouldn’t have, and caution was never one of his strong suits.

A quick yank brings down Charles’ trousers and underwear, exposing creamy flesh to hungry eyes. His bottom is firm and smooth, with a touch of pleasant roundness. Erik reaches out to stroke it without thinking, feeling the flinch under his hand.

But Charles is silent. No protests or pleading, only the same tense anticipation as Erik folds the belt over. Whether Charles projects the sensation unconsciously or Erik is merely reading his friend’s body, he doesn’t care.

Taking a last deep breath, he snaps the leather against Charles’ arse, making the boy gasp and arch against the cold table. He wonders if he is the first to do this, if Charles’ father used his bare hand or simply preferred to send him to bed without supper. The idea smolders in his brain, but he pushes it aside for the moment.

“You did not create the mutants.” he says with a calm he doesn’t feel. Another slap and Charles cries out, loudly. “Nor did you make humans fear us as they fear anything different. Did you?”

“N- no,” Charles says distractedly. A glance down confirms what Erik scarcely dared to hope: Charles’ arousal trapped between his body and the smooth black metal.

“Then why is it your responsibility?” Erik demands, striking hard enough to make Charles struggle against his restraints. His skin is no longer creamy-pale, but blooming pink where the belt has struck. Another touch proves that it’s warm, too; Charles’ breath hitches at the touch.

“Because – ” Charles begins, only to cry out at the next slap. “Because I – _mph!_ ”

Erik doesn’t give him room to think, much less speak, raining stinging slaps and hard smacks on his friend’s arse. Charles groans when Erik strikes the same spot two, three, four times in a row, offering no reprieve.

“Because I can help them!” he cries. “I– I want to help them!”

Charles loses his words again, his breath coming in sobs and gasps.

“Erik, _please_ –”

Erik strikes a fresh spot, watching the skin flare from white to pink. “Please what, Charles?”

“St – _ah!_ ” Charles grinds his hips against the table shamelessly as if to escape the belt. “Please stop, Erik!”

And Erik’s hand stays in mid-air, his lips curling in satisfaction. He’s breathing hard, he realizes, and his pants feel far too tight.

Charles doesn’t rise from the table when the iron straps unfurl from his wrists. Likely he hopes Erik hasn’t noticed his erection leaking against the cold metal. Instead Erik rolls his friend over, batting Charles’ hands away when he attempts to cover himself.

“Do you want this?” he asks softly, trailing a hand over the sparse hair below Charles’ navel. His friend’s nod floods him with relief, and he wraps his fingers firmly around the stiff, swollen cock.

It doesn’t take long, but Erik savors every moment. Each stroke brings a flash of shamed pleasure to Charles' face. His mussed hair clings to wet, flushed cheeks, and his eyes are achingly bright as they stare up at Erik. For once his gaze isn’t sharp and challenging, but glazed with pleasure and need. His eyes finally squeeze shut when he comes over Erik’s hand with a groan.

Charles all but melts onto the table afterward, his face relaxed in the aftermath. It takes several minutes for his breathing to even, for something like sanity to return to his eyes.

“You don’t need to carry the world on your shoulders.” Erik eventually says.

“N- no.” his friend says, sitting up with a thinly disguised wince. He looks up at Erik again, his gaze achingly earnest. “But perhaps you could help me.”

Without asking, Charles slides to his knees, parting Erik’s trousers with an unpracticed but eager touch. It seems no humiliation will relieve Charles of his arrogance; it’s as much a part of his nature as his unflagging optimism, or his never-resting mind.

Even so, Erik doesn’t think it could hurt to try again.


End file.
